


A Chant of Wintertime Sadness

by Jupiter_Yang



Series: A Chant of Wintertime Sadness [1]
Category: Snow - Fandom, The Soviet Union - Fandom, Winter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, original short story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-06 04:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter_Yang/pseuds/Jupiter_Yang
Summary: And the coldest winter of the Union did come as Mischa expected.That was the last happy time they had. Next time when Mischa held him into his arms, Wofski wouldn’t know that was a farewell.Mischa knew. But for him, he would be willing to take every risk.If only he could save him.





	1. Overview: He Heard the Door Bang

The wind was howling outside. It was the coldest winter of the Union.

Everything was white as if they were all coated with silver. Among the endless snow Wofski saw a formless figure that made him thought that the God of Death was coming.

Today was the Christmas Eve. Every year at this time he would be with his family and his lover, gathering around the fire, singing the Chant. His lover used to sing those songs for him— he had the most beautiful voice in the world, a voice wrapped in fine velvet, as if it was the angel in the heavens had granted him. When he was singing /Lake Baikal/ or /Moscow Nights/ every snowflake outside the window danced with his tune, and all the coldness suddenly disappeared into the swirling winter air.

Apollo would bow in front of him, needless to say. He was the greatest gift ever to him, more glorious than the sunshine and the even the gentle light of the moon could not compare to his affectionate eye. 

And his embrace. Yes, his embrace. When Wofski was mocked by his friends using the most malicious words at school, or when his father beat him with the fork, he would hold him into his arms and tell him everything is fine. And little Wofski really thought so. Yes, they will have a million years to spend, to waste, to love each other, and to live without shame. Only if everything was over.

Wofski was a strong, energetic young lad, and a firm and loyal comrade of the Empire. He was summoned to the Red Army 3 years ago when they departed for the Western Europe, when he hadn’t even reached the age which he could drive a car, drink vodka or get a fair and legal marriage. So he left his homeland, and never heard of his lover again.

Now, on the Christmas Eve of 1991, they were in Siberia. No, not “they”, because all of his comrades died in an explosion of the nuclear power station 7 days ago. He had nothing but several sacks of food and It could never sustain him out of the snowfield.

He was exhausted and when he finally saw a sign of a building he immediately rushed in and lied down on the hard ground.

He pleaded for death to come. 

But just like a miracle, he didn’t die. After a day he woke up, and he started to scan through this place.

It was an underground chamber, maybe built for bomb shelter or something. The floor was cold and stale, emitting a stink that made Wofski feel sick. 

But that was the time when he heard a step. He looked outside and saw a man covered in thick brown suit approaching near him. He nearly thought that was the God of Death, and he didn’t even resist but to let that man carry him up. That pair of arms were gentle but firm, reminded Wofski of...him.

And that was him indeed. 

Wofski though he was already dead back in their homeland, but he didn’t. He survived. A current of ecstasy flowed through Wofski’s body ravishingly. He held him into his embrace, consoled him with fluent Russian as always, but Wofski sensed a sigh of abnormality. 

He didn’t come alone. He brought an army with him.

They all wore the same brown suit.

Wofski shivered as he was struck by lightening.

“Are you...”

“You are from the right wing...”

“Traitor!”

He shouted out using all the strength of his vulnerable body. He defended, trying to get rid of his hold, but he failed. Several men rushed forward trying to enter the little chamber.

“Don’t approach. “ He was calm as if he didn’t hear Wofski’s accuse. 

“That’s the reason I haven’t heard from you all those years...tell me, what have you done? This army has nothing but but blood and sins...you are one of them, ain’t you? The Clearance, fire in Stalinburg, and the Giant Explosion last week...”

“Don’t, Wofski. No more.” He closed his eyes, tears running down his beautiful cheek. Wofski stared at him as if they were still back home—nothing ever happened, his god-like lover still stood in front of him with his affectionate eyes. But they couldn’t return anymore.

“Let’s go home, my love. Everything is over. There were no unions anymore. It’s—all over.” He was really beaten, pleading Wofski softly with his tired voice.

“Impossible!” Wofski uttered a roar, suddenly attacked him by the face. They rolled on the ground, and that’s when they heard a giant deafening noise.

The chamber was shuttering. Now Wofski had a clear sight of what’s located in the center of the chamber—it was a giant nuclear reactor.

“Run!” He jumped up, pushing Wofski towards the door desperately. Wofski already lost all his strength in the fight, and he was not able to climb out of the chamber anymore. 

The wind was still howling outside. The soldiers are all clustering near, and he built a bridge with his own body and let the soldiers pull Wofski out. But he lost his strength immediately afterwards, while Wofski was still desperately holding his hand unwilling to let go.

“Goodbye, my love.”

“Mischa...no...I forgive you, we can start over...don’t leave me...”

“I love you.”

Red beams of light filled the space and Mischa used his last remained power to push Wofski out of the door.

He heard the door bang.


	2. Before the Battle: The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night just before they parted company from each other.

“мой любимый (My love).” Mischa laid his thighs softly on his. “This is gonna be the coldest winter.”

But we are lying by the fire, Wofski thought. How can it be cold? He was to say it right out, but his words were stopped by a long and slim finger.  
“Nay…Hush. Don’t say a word.” A pair of grey eyes were staring at his face. Wofski thought he must be totally red now, like the fine strawberries growing in Mama’s garden yards during summertime. 

Just was that he knew what he was thinking, he suddenly grinned, fingers playing around his brown curls. “You look like strawberries indeed, дорогой (dear one). The ones that are red and juicy—wouldn’t know if I can taste a little.” Wofski can see his pink tongue dancing behind that pair of red, sensual lips. If he said that he was totally firm in front of this, that would definitely be a lie. God damn it, his lover was FUCKING DELICIOUS. 

But he acted like if he was a little irritated, trying to get rid of his hold. Mischa chuckled, arms tightened, forming a prison in his strong embrace. “Okey-dokey, I won’t touch you, my little naughty. Not until we are ready.”

Wofski knew what he meant. This kind of love was unspeakable and must be disguised. Mama thought they were friends—or good brothers—but they were actually, more. He didn’t know how to tell her about this.

“God knows when…” Mischa sighed. “It is so intolerable, all of these. The Tsar, unions, underground forces…when can all these come to an end?” 

“Soon, soon. I promise. Everything would get over. “Wofski kisses on his cheeks, adding a series of pink patterns on them. “I will fix them. WE will fix them.”

A sudden fear seized Mischa’s heart. How is he gonna fix them? Him, Wofski Alexandrov , is gonna go on that battle and bleed? That would be a road so long, so dark, so irreversible. His little boy wouldn’t survive. No, not him. Not HIS Wofski. 

I would go instead, Mischa thought. There must be a way.

And that was the last happy time they had. Next time when Mischa held him into his arms, Wofski wouldn’t know that was a farewell. 

Mischa knew. But for him, he would be willing to take every risk.

If only he could save him.


	3. Just One Last Night, Before We Say Goodbye

“Fuck me hard,” Wofski gasps, tears of pain flowing down from his pale cheeks, merging into a little, fragile stream. His mouth opened, fine strings of silver filled it everywhere, thrusting into his mouth and made the guardian—that pair of soft and sensual pink lips—red as blood was going to drip from them.

“We will have no chance anymore, мой любимый (My love). Let’s do it right here and right now.”

He was all red indeed, like sweet little strawberries. But some parts on his body were more like strawberries than his lips. 

Mischa was sucking his nipples. His tongue was like a flexible and naughty little snake, touching that point gently but quite exactly with its little head every time. And his teeth—they were quick and accurate, stinging waves and waves of pleasure in his body. Wofski shrieked silently. The juice was flowing, gentle white colour on the bedsheets reflected Mischa’s affectionate eyes. His nipples were aching, shouted for more.

Wofski saw those curved shapes of his eyes in the reflections.

He was smiling, hey. Wofski protested, but still he didn’t utter a sound, fearing that his sweet lover may come to a halt. Don’t stop, he mumbled, get into me. Get into ME.  
The word he didn’t utter was, —we won’t have time anymore. Just one last night, my sweet lover, before we say goodbye.

Mischa could always guess out his inner thoughts.

“Ready?” He looked into his eyes, calmly.

“Hmm.” Wofski adjusted his position a little bit, allowing Mischa to get in more comfortably.

“I’m gonna be hard.”

“Never been afraid.”


End file.
